


The Drowning Sense

by appalachian_fireflies



Series: The Drowning Sense [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Bonding, Dystopia, Forced Bonding, Forced Marriage, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, Loss of Trust, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Omega Verse, Other, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Revolution, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Sexism, Trauma, Trust Kink, and, conservativism, i grabbed some stuff and fused it, queer that trope, vaguely based on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Omegas, genetically engineered for their health after infertility decimated earth's population, have difficulty with sensory and empathy sensitivities.  Without being bonded to a mate, they are prone to psychotic breaks.  </p><p>Jamal has run away from his abusive bonded husband, and is on his last legs when he's approached by a mysterious omega who can manipulate the people around him with his mind.  Everything he's been told about omegas is a lie manufactured to keep them powerless.  But not for much longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Note to anyone reading this who noticed I disappeared: I've been having persistent ocular migraines nearly every day. It's left me unable to do much, and I'm seeing a bunch of doctors soon. I'm not abandoning this story; fingers crossed for me that things work out soon?
> 
> This story has a prequel, which you can read by clicking the left arrow. You can also read this story without reading the first part of the series. 
> 
> warning for self-harm (due to scifi biology stuff) in this chapter. i love feedback, including constructive criticism.

His mother had told him it started with the water. Something small, nearly undetectable; it spread through the rivers, lakes, streams, through the rain. He had nightmares of dark water sometimes, drowning him, creeping through his nostrils till he choked and thrashed. The water was thick with pitch and oil, it pulled him under-

Someone was touching his hand. He was coughing. His eyes were open, looking at the painting of the woman steering the ship through the waves-

The museum. He was in the National Gallery of Art, downtown DC. The ride he'd hitched had taken him here a couple days ago. It was. He didn’t know what the date was. Midday light streamed through the windows. People who had been looking at him in concern turned away, mollified. The respectful hush returned, the soft footfalls. The lighting was gentle, calming. He breathed out. 

There was warmth radiating from his hand, traveling up his wrist. He turned.

A young man was holding it, smiling gently, his delicate, pale hand encasing Jamal's brown one. An omega, Jamal's brain supplied. His eyes were magnetic, and Jamal zoned on them, dissociating into the sharp green. 

“It’s the lighting, isn’t it?” the young man said. “In museums. I’ve never found anywhere like it, just the right amount. And the quiet, the balance of the colors. It used to bring me back.”

Jamal cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice rough with disuse. 

“I’m Ian,” he introduced. Jamal looked at him blankly. The museum still felt unreal, and the omega seemed small and far away. He gripped his hand back. 

“Let me buy you lunch?” the omega said softly, his body language unthreatening. “I know a place around the corner, hole in the wall, pretty quiet.” 

Jamal froze. The man could have been sent to take him in. It would be smart, to send an omega. Easier to get him out of the public eye without making a scene. Not that it would matter either way, in a day or so. The dissociation was getting worse. He’d be taken in today, like this, or they'd catch him in the middle of a full psychotic break, ranting and raving about the pain of sirens two streets over. 

He nodded and gripped the omega’s hand, following mechanically. Something about the omega was grounding him, spreading slow warmth through his veins. He felt if he let go he might be lost, left to drown in sensory overload. 

They went outside, and then they were… at the restaurant. The journey there hadn’t been encoded. He’d gotten lost in one of the bricks in the sidewalk, senses shut out to everything else. 

Silverware clinked, the lighting was low, and the omega was still holding his hand. The world came back all at once, high definition. There were five booths, kitschy posters of spoons and forks dancing on the wall. The linoleum floor was checkered black and white, the white drapes on the windows yellowing with age at their tips. 

“Just take me back,” Jamal said bluntly. “Get it over with.” 

“I’m not going to do that,” Ian replied evenly. “I promise. I’m here to help.” 

Jamal snorted. “Bullshit. Whatever kind of help you’re selling, I don’t want it.” He didn’t remove his hand, though the impulse was strong. “I just want to be left alone.” 

“You don't trust anyone, huh?” the omega smiled. “Good. It’ll keep you alive.” A plate of fries was thunked down between them unceremoniously. Ian must have ordered them. He was currently shaking a plastic ketchup bottle, his brow furrowed in concentration. The last bit of it was eked out onto the plate, bright red against the white. Jamal felt a rush of calm flow over him like a wave, doping him, making him tired. 

“How are you doing that?” he tilted his head. The room was steady, the cutlery clinking, the smell of fried food making his mouth water, the omega in front of him real down to the buttons on his shirt. 

“You ran away from your husband two weeks ago,” Ian replied, cleaning up the ketchup with a small cluster of fries. “An admirable amount of time to make it on your own, considering the strain the abuse had already placed on your mind.” He smiled lopsidedly, sarcastic. “We’re very delicate creatures emotionally, as I’m sure you’re aware. Fry?” 

Jamal's heart pounded. “Fuck off,” he growled, looking around for any others nearby. There was one other group of kids in the booth, laughing as they traded stories and shared nachos. They had lanyards around their necks- some visiting high school group, probably. That didn’t mean there weren’t others waiting outside. He stood, wrenching his hand away. The restaurant tilted out of focus. 

_I can get him out of your head_ , a voice in his mind said. He froze. 

Ian was staring at him intently. _I can teach you how to control it on your own, stop yourself from zoning. I want to help._ The man grabbed another fry, looking down at the plate. _Sit down, hear me out. You’re making the other customers uncomfortable, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t draw any unnecessary attention._

Sure enough, the kids had turned to stare at him, whispering among themselves. He slid back into the booth, drawing his coat closer around himself. He took a fry. 

“You know, when I imagined what losing my shit would feel like,” he said idly, stealing some of the ketchup, “this isn’t how I pictured it going.” 

The omega laughed. “I understand that better than you know,” he said. Sandwiches appeared in front of them, and Jamal wolfed his down, barely tasting it. If this was how he was going to go down, he might as well not be starving. 

_I have a place you can hide. A shelter for omegas, of sorts. You've been told that you’re weak, that omegas become psychotic without a stable, mated partner. It's a lie. You’re more powerful than you know._ The omega was ripping open a packet of salt, sprinkling it onto his sandwich, hundreds of tiny white grains falling in a steady mesmerizing stream-

That confirmed it. He’d zoned completely, probably in the museum. He was in custody now, probably drugged to his eyeballs, dreaming up some nice fantasy. Some way to cut out this part of him like he'd always wanted, to bleed out the DNA that made him weak, that forced him to keep his husband's voice in his head. 

_Bitch, why can’t you-_

The voice cut off. Ian was holding his wrist, looking concerned. He’d been scratching at it roughly, lines of red blooming over a pattern of pink and white scarring. It was a relief to watch it, sometimes. To imagine he had control over his own mind, his body.

 _Shh,_ he heard. Ian signed a receipt. _Let me help you._

“Yeah,” he said, the artificial calm tugging at his consciousness, the room coming back into focus. The sunlight, streaming through the windows, the kids still chattering in the booth. The omega was doing it somehow, pulling him back. It should be impossible for anyone but his bonded partner. “Ok.” 

_There were guards following you, at the museum,_ the omega projected. _I had to distract them to get you out of there. The police have been looking for you, and they know you’re in the area now. I’m going to walk you to a car. I’ll do my best to keep us hidden, but controlling so many people at once is difficult for me, so it would help if you tried to stay calm._

Jamal laughed. “Right.” This was a fucking trip. 

Ian stood, and Jamal followed. _I know you’re tired. Just hold on for a bit longer. If you got out, you can do this._

The sunlight was bright in the streets, sending stabbing pain to his head. He swayed, but kept moving, the omega’s smaller hand gripping his firmly, his tether to the real world. One foot, next foot, step by step. Like the miles he’d pushed himself to run in the fields, till his husband made him stop working out. Didn’t like his omegas too muscular, too masculine. He wasn’t a faggot, he’d said. 

A policeman turned toward him in the haze, and Ian stopped, talking to him. The policeman had his hand on his hip, twitching. 

The omega had come to turn him in, probably collecting a decent reward. Jamal felt sick. He should have known better by now. He couldn’t even blame him. It was how the system worked, and what he’d done was illegal. Jamal rubbed the band-aid over the tracker in his neck that he’d deactivated. He’d be punished for that. 

Not that it mattered. He’d kill himself before he was sent back to his husband. An eerie sense of calm came over him. He knew it would likely end like this. He wouldn’t be the first or last omega the world lost prematurely. 

The policeman’s hand hung loosely at his side. He backed away, furrowed brow easing. They continued, moving through a maze of side streets, down an alley, into a basement garage. Ian was breathing heavily, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead in the cool air. 

One of the cars lit up with the click of Ian's keys, casting a soft, blinking yellow light over the dark space. The omega led him in, and the doors sealed shut, blocking out the noise of the city. The cloth smelled new, clean, the interior a soft beige. 

The omega looked at him, assessing. He frowned, raising a head to Jamal's forehead. 

_It’s ok,_ he soothed. _You’re afraid of falling into a sensory coma, but you won’t. I won’t let you._ He stroked the short, curly hair around Jamal's forehead, and hit the button to recline the seat. _You’re safe. Just rest._

The engine started, and Jamal relaxed, the artificial sense of calm pulling him down to drift somewhere cool and peaceful, a waveless ocean, a heartbeat surrounded by white noise. The ocean wasn’t his. 

_It’s mine_ , Ian clarified, his voice distant. _I’ll explain everything, I promise._

Jamal tried to pull out of the ocean, mistrust and panic overcoming his exhaustion. The car sped down the highway, signs flashing by. The connection with the other omega snapped away, like a thread of putty pulled too tight. Jamal breathed steadily. The few minutes under had brought him clarity, for now. He sat up, watching the brilliant colors of the fall leaves passing them. 

Ian looked at him sadly. “Good instincts,” he said, turning back to the road. “That’s called a block. You can shield your mind from anyone you want to. Their thoughts, emotions. You can also shield yourself from your surroundings, with practice.”

“Not everyone,” Jamal returned laconically. 

“Everyone,” Ian countered. 

“Not my husband,” Jamal said. Ian turned on his blinker, taking an exit to a different highway.

“Yes,” Ian said, compassionate. “You can. You couldn’t until now because your chip was active.”

“Bullshit,” Jamal grunted. “It’s just a tracker.”

“Is it?” Ian replied lightly. He merged. They were heading west. The mountains, a ridge on the horizon, were moving closer. “Did it feel this bad to be outside, when you were younger? Before the chip?”

“It was before I was registered as an omega,” Jamal returned, unsure. “The symptoms of sensory dissociation get worse, the longer an omega remains unmated.” He remembered a pamphlet in a hospital, bold text against a cheery yellow background. He’s pretty sure he’s quoting it. 

“They say it gets worse after you present as an omega during puberty, right? How long had it been after you presented before your parents took you to get chipped?”

“Three years,” Jamal said, thinking. During which he’d felt overwhelmed sometimes, sure. He'd always been able to control those meltdowns though, to come back to himself. It wasn’t until after the chip that he’d felt his mind start to slide, the episodes getting worse until he was taken to the omega ward, paired with a mate. 

“The chip has a disinhibitor. Shuts down your ability to piece together the gestalt, to dampen your emotional responses without help. It makes you addicted to the bond with your mate.” The omega sent a wave of calm, and Jamal wrinkled his nose, irritated, slamming it back. 

“Oy,” Ian said, wincing. “That’s not very nice.”

“Then fucking quit it,” he growled back. 

“Yeah, ok, sorry,” Ian said, shrugging. “You were just projecting anxiety from here to like, Timbuktu.”

“I’m not saying I believe you,” Jamal started, grounding himself in the uniform texture of the cotton-poly seat, “but why the hell would they bother?”

The omega laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “Why make us dependent on the mates they assign us? Maybe the same damn reason they created us?” His polite, cultured demeanor fell away for a second, and Jamal felt uneasy with what he glimpsed underneath. 

When his mother started the story, she always started it with the water. Fracking, along with other desperate attempts to harvest dwindling energy sources, released trace chemicals into the ground water. Nearly undetectable, seemingly harmless. For years, they were. They passed through the water supply, into facets, were consumed as drinking water. It took decades before they started to wreak havoc in the bodies they had entered. It took several more years for scientists to locate the culprit, but by then it was too late. The majority of the planet was infertile. 

The toxic agent was passed to children, the numbers of which grew smaller and smaller. A previously overcrowded planet reeled with the loss of its younger members, a working class. Economies splintered. The elderly languished in nursing homes with fewer family members to care for them, fewer wages to support them. 

It took several more decades before an international team of geneticists presented the world with a miracle. Ova that had been genetically manipulated, babies whose reproductive systems were hardy, undamaged. It was the first sign of hope they'd had in years, and the process spread like wildfire to barren couples desperate to conceive. 

The genetic manipulation, the preference for healthy wombs had an unintended side effect. Instead of fully masculinizing from the presence of androgens in the womb, several male babies kept the female organs that all fetuses started with. These were invisible outside of several who had been scanned at birth, declared as anomalies, intersex children. 

Then a generation of children matured, and some minority of male children hitting puberty found that something embarrassing was happening, that baffled the doctors who were beginning to talk amongst themselves. The boys were leaking slick despite the absence of labia. They didn’t produce sperm. Their testicles were ovaries. 

At the same time, a conservative backlash was growing against the non-reproductive couples and polyamorous families that had flourished before and after the rise of infertility. They called for a return to the stability of the nuclear family, for each nation’s reproductive couples to settle down and have children. For the sake of the economy, for the future, and to avoid being overrun by nations who were reproducing at faster rates. 

When the news hit that the sex binary (a flimsy concept from the outset) had been shattered by the appearance of boys who would be able to bear children, religious leaders had a field day. They called it the end of days, God’s answer to the perversion of traditional gender and sex roles. People across the globe listened. They were frightened by the strange world that had risen around them, exhausted by years of grief and uncertainty. 

Some of the genetically modified children of all sexes started to show signs of instability. They’d scream at soft noises, close their eyes and rock at bright lights. Flinch away from their anxious caregivers, sob with pain when a sibling broke a bone. It put the last nail in the coffin. 

Suddenly, the scientists who had created the genetic modifications stepped into the media spotlight. They allied with the religious leaders, saying that the sensitive biology in a minority of child sexes, who they began to call omegas, required a stable pair bond. The genes that they’d tampered with, implicated in bonding, sex development, hormonal production, and several other things besides, had unexpected side effects. 

They concluded that any unbonded omega child would be lost to psychosis. Psychiatrists began reporting incident after incident of psychotic breaks in omegas. Parents were terrified that they’d lose their kids, and they clamored for help. 

The omega centers flourished. Omegas were pair bonded, settled in to reproduce. The population of the planet began to stabilize, and the children remained sane. Fertile individuals in non-reproductive partnerships became illegal. The economy stabilized. The public rejoiced. The world returned to normal. 

Jamal ran a finger over the remains of the chip in his neck, beneath the collar disguising the band-aid. 

“It’s… been a long day,” he said finally. 

“We have a few hours before we get to where we’re going,” Ian grunted. “You have time to think it over.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Is this a logging road?” Jamal asked several hours later as they wound through the mountains, pitted gravel turning to dirt. 

“Um,” Ian said, distracted by the tilt of the road partly washed off the mountain. “Yes, I’m pretty sure. Not active, I don’t think.” He approached a steep corner slowly, then they traveled down into a small valley. Ian turned sharply onto a small dirt side road. A branch whacked the side of the car. 

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Jamal questioned. “I’m not sure about these trees.”

“Not sure about them?” Ian asked politely. 

The trees cast shadows around them in the gathering dark, making a black tunnel ahead. “They look aggressive. There’s too many of them, too few of us.” Jamal was exhausted, but he felt better than he had in years, the constant background noise of his husband’s consciousness fading into a hum of static. 

Ian snorted. “Don’t get out to the country much?”

“Nah,” Jamal said, lacing his hands behind his head,“suburbs are my limit.”

A soft light approached at the end of the tunnel of bright red maples. “We’re here,” Ian said, slowing and rubbing a hand across his eyes. 

The house was huge, sprawling. And it was… odd. It looked like bits of it had been slapped on over time, made of various construction materials. Some of the roofs were slanted tin, other flat shingles, and the side of one appeared to be stucco. The sections were painted various cheerful colors, though the paint was chipping steadily. It seemed ancient. Wind chimes hung from the porch, and a rocking chair creaked in the wind. 

“Well,” Jamal said slowly, “I’m pretty sure it isn’t a detention center.”

Ian huffed out a tired laugh. “Unique, isn’t it?” He walked toward the porch. 

“Is it yours?” Jamal asked. “You seem like the kind of rich person who would have a house stashed away somewhere.” 

Ian looked back at him with a forced smile. “No, no. Not rich, not anymore. It belongs to Gerda and Lily. They took it over back when the government took away their marriage license and things got tense for them in town. They can be ignored, out here, now that they’re older.” Ian slid a key into one lock, then started on the next, giving it an odd twist and shove. The house smelled like apple cider. 

“How’d you end up here?” Jamal asked, taking in the house. It was covered in crochet, paintings, beading, little lines of candles, plants in every window and crevice. The window in the room to the right was stained glass. 

“They… had sympathy for my situation, a few years back. I’ve been grateful for their kindness ever since.” Ian moved down the hallway, and peered into a room dimly lit by candles. 

“Ian!” someone squealed, and Jamal heard the scratch of several chairs against the wood floor, then the rush of several pairs of feet. A blur of movement hit Ian, propelling him a step backwards. 

“Oof!” Ian exclaimed to the woman in his arms, and then he was surrounded by people of various genders. Omegas. All of them felt like omegas. There had to be about fifteen of them. 

Except for the two older women sitting at the table, looking up at Jamal. One had her silver hair slicked into a ponytail, the other in a messy bun with what looked like knitting needles. 

“You could have called,” the woman in Ian’s arms said, punching him. 

“You know they tap that shit, Chlo,” he huffed, extracting himself. “Can’t risk it, unless there’s an emergency.” 

All of the omega’s eyes turned toward Jamal, joining the older women’s. 

“Uh,” he said awkwardly. 

“Everyone,” Ian said judiciously, “this is Jamal. Jamal, everyone. They’ll introduce themselves a few times each, I’m sure.” Ian pulled out a chair and gestured. Jamal sat gratefully. 

The other omegas kept sneaking glances at him, minds brimming with muted curiosity. They passed around a couple pitchers of water, pouring it into canning glasses and mugs. Jamal poured his own glass, then raised it to sip it. It tasted strange, sweet almost. He sat it back down quickly. 

“Well water,” one of the older women supplied. “Tastes funny if you're not used to it, but it’s clean as water gets, and we filter it, of course. Lily,” she introduced, shifting in her light cotton dress. Her voice was clear and firm, though her entire demeanor projected a motherly kindness. “This one’s Gerda,” she supplied, nudging the woman with the messy bun.

“Oh, right,” Gerda said, taking a biscuit from a basket on the table. “You’re very welcome here, Jamal.” She had a distracted air about her, though her smile seemed genuine. She fiddled with one of the knitting needles. 

“Isn’t this illegal?” Jamal blurted out, then flushed, unable to backtrack. “I mean.” Several of the omegas giggled. 

“Heavens to Betsy,” Lily replied dryly. The phrase must have been outdated way before her time. “Gerda, that’s it, we’re gonna have to pack up. It’s time to find me a man. And no more pot for you.” Gerda elbowed her. 

“It is a risk though,” Jamal pressed, “isn’t it?” 

“Son,” Gerda replied, “we decided it was worth it a long time ago. We’re quite aware of the consequences. Biscuit?” She passed the basket. 

Jamal took it. Chloe tried valiantly to engage him for a bit while others snuck glances at him. Ian was deep in conversation with someone, and looked over at Jamal every few seconds to assess him. 

Ian took Jamal away when he stopped picking at his food, leading him up and down several flights of steps. Chloe followed them, careful not to crowd Jamal. The simple wooden doors he passed were decorated, names taped to most of them. Ian stopped in front of a bare one, opening it, and Jamal followed. 

Ian lit a candle on the dresser. The room was small, but comfortable. The bed was made with its quilt tucked into the corners. The glass on the window was thick, but scrubbed clean. Jamal sat down on the bed. 

“This one’s yours,” Ian said. “I know it’s not much. We can work on getting whatever you need tomorrow. Until then, there’re some clothes, pajamas, things like that in the drawers.” He opened a small plastic box on the nightstand. “Toothbrush, other basic stuff.” 

Jamal sat on the bed, worrying the soft, broken-in comforter between his fingers. He choked, fighting back the tell take prickle in his eyes. It’d been so long since he’d had his own bed. For the last few weeks, he’d been moving place to place, never staying long. It’d been cold, and he’d been too afraid to sleep, in case someone came after him in the middle of the night. Before that, he’d had to share the bed with his husband, sometimes waking up to find him already inside his mind, inside his body. He scratched at his wrist. 

Ian grabbed at his wrist, frowning in concern. “Someone can sleep with you, if you want,” he offered. “You don’t have to be alone.”

“No,” Jamal said quickly. As bad as being alone sounded, sleeping next to someone was worse. “I’m fine. Thank you.” 

Ian nodded. “Chloe’s next door, if you have any questions. Bathroom has a sign on it. Be careful with the candles, and blow them out before you lay down.” He left with a nod. Chloe stayed. 

“What’s his deal?” Jamal asked when the footsteps faded. "Is being mysterious his thing?”

Chloe laughed, moving closer. Jamal moved away. “He’ll have to tell you that.” 

“Aw, c’mon,” Jamal whined. “Did he go to boarding school? He looks like the type.” 

“I see what you’re doing,” Chloe replied. “Yes and no. Think, more like boarding school crossed with a part time lab rat gig.” 

“I honestly have no idea how to respond to that,” Jamal announced, laying back. “Good night.” 

“I’m going to check on you,” Chloe said, tapping her forehead. “Not to be creepy, just to keep you from zoning. Since you can’t control it on your own yet, and you’re in withdrawal from the bond.” 

Jamal blinked at her. “That’s kind of creepy,” he admitted. 

She shrugged. “We’ve all been doing it since you got here. Ian’s been taking care of you since he met up with you. Omegas are stronger when they’re together. You can’t do this on your own, especially not now.”

Jamal peeked under his blankets, then cuddled under them. “You took away his voice,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“We’re muting it,” she corrected. “We can’t break the bond until we replace it with another one.”

Jamal thought it over, eyes closing tiredly. “You can break it?” he said softly, not daring to hope. To have his mind back, to not feel the sick greasy slide of his husband’s consciousness inside his own. 

“We will,” she said firmly. “I promise.”

Jamal turned on his side, curling his fingers into the comforter.

“You sure you don’t want company?” she whispered. “It helps most of us.”

Jamal felt an odd, hollow pang in his chest, then an uncomfortable floating feeling when he thought of Chloe touching him. 

“No, thank you,” he replied. “Good night.” 

“Sleep tight,” she said, closing the door. 

*

The grass underneath him was brittle; it poked through Jamal’s jeans. He itched his ankle. 

Ian cracked open an eye. He was sitting opposite, legs folded. A cricket chirped loudly. 

Jamal started laughing. “Dude, literal crickets are chirping.” 

They’d been at this for hours. Ian was trying to teach Jamal to “center” himself, or some hippie shit. Jamal had humored him, but really. There was only so much he could take. 

Ian tore out some of the dry grass and flung it at him. Jamal ducked his head, laughing harder. Ian huffed, and Jamal tore up a retaliatory handful of grass and flung it. Ian made a hilarious high-pitched noise. 

“It’s not my fault you have the attention span of a gnat.” Ian shook the grass from his bangs, carding his fingers through them. A clump of dirt fell to the ground, and he made a face. 

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” Jamal crooned. 

“Right,” Ian laid back with an oof. Jamal scooted over and laid next to him. He turned on his side. 

“Sorry, sensei,” Jamal said, propping his hand on his chin. He’d been here for two days, but already it felt like forever. The past behind him seemed foggy, uncertain compared to the present. 

Ian turned on his side to face him, and abruptly they were very close. Ian held out a hand, palm flat. 

“Stay still,” he ordered, and Jamal obeyed. The fingers settled on the side of his neck, and he shivered. 

“I almost drowned once, when I was a kid,” Ian said idly, taking his fingers away. Jamal stopped himself from following their warmth. 

“That’s cheery,” Jamal replied. 

“The ocean, what I use to ground myself, the first time it worked it was an accident. I used to zone from the stress I was under, and I’d think I was drowning in the ocean. Like you do with your water.” 

Jamal could feel his heart pick up, feel the water rising in his mind, ready to swallow him if he stumbled. 

“I added the grounding beforehand because it seemed cruel to put anyone through what I’d learned. Anything you’re afraid of, deal with it long enough and it becomes repetitive.” 

Jamal swallowed, and he could feel Ian seeing through him. 

“Do you want to learn how to control a zone?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Jamal said, sobering up. “I need to.” He paused. 

“What is it?” Ian asked kindly. 

“Is that how I break the bond?” Jamal asked. 

Ian nodded. “You’re afraid of it coming back?” 

Jamal held his breath. “More than anything,” he admitted. 

“Then yes,” Ian said, “though a broken bond must be replaced with something else.” He raised his fingers over the sensitive points on the side of Jamal’s neck, beneath his ears. Pressure there made omegas passive, more susceptible to suggestion. It was where his husband had bitten him when he’d bonded him. Ian was looking into his eyes, uncomfortably intimate. 

"Replaced?" Jamal questioned.

"With another bond of your choice," Ian said evenly.

"Omegas can't bond one another," Jamal replied. A flicker of pain crossed Ian's face, gone as quickly as it came.

“Yes, they can." He continued before Jamal could interject. "If you want to control a zone, you need to accept that the fear you're experiencing is only an emotion. You have to face it, head on. Or else you’ll avoid it and zone out. That's what zones are; a defense mechanism, a way to avoid overwhelming emotions or sensory input. They try to numb the pain, make the fear distant.” 

Jamal nodded slightly. The fingers were a steady pressure on his neck, and he could feel himself slipping under. The sounds of the crickets were becoming distant, the sun overhead, the prickle of the grass. Ian’s eyes pulled him in. 

“The zone makes the world feel strange, bizzare.” Ian’s voiced seemed like it was slowing down. “You become afraid of the zone, but you can’t go back to what you’re trying to escape in your mind. You escape the zone instead. It’s how omegas fall into sensory comas.” 

“What if,” Jamal swallowed, “what if I do that?” He could feel himself slipping deeper, treading water. He started struggling. 

“I won’t let you,” Ian said, his voice sure, steady. 

The water crept up to his chest, pressing, thick and black. His husband had his wrists, and his voice slid in, oily like the water. 

“I can’t,” Jamal said, hating how his voice broke, high-pitched and wavering. He didn’t trust Ian. It wasn’t his fault; there was no way he could know for sure, despite his confidence. Jamal could be lost in the dark water forever. He panicked, struggling for air. He breathed faster, but he couldn’t get enough. His hands and feet were tingling, the water numbing them. “No, I can’t,” he whined, heedless now of how he sounded. He fought away from Ian’s hold-

The fingers retreated, and a wash of calm made the water drain abruptly. The crickets returned, Ian’s eyes looking into his. 

Jamal ducked, ashamed. His hands were sweating. 

“Anyone would be afraid of what you’ve had to live through,” Ian said firmly. “Everyone here has memories they’d rather walk on broken glass than relive. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jamal nodded, but the words didn’t reach him where he felt the impulse to run back to his room and never leave. 

“I got bucked off a horse once,” Ian started. 

“Of course they had horses where you grew up,” Jamal interjected with a shaky smile, and Ian waved a hand. 

“Anyway. I was lying on the ground, the air knocked out of me, with this gigantic animal that could step on me and crush me. And my teacher took the reins and got the horse away from me, rode her for a minute. And then she got off and looked at me.” 

“Get back on the horse?” Jamal guessed. 

“It is a bit literal, isn’t it?” Ian said dryly. “I told her maybe tomorrow, and she told me nope, today or else I’d never get back on again. And I did it.”

“I’m scared,” Jamal admitted. “I can’t calm myself down.” 

“Of course you are,” Ian said. “And the more you avoid it, especially after leaving as afraid as you were, the more scared you’ll be. The fear won’t kill you.” 

“You sure?” Jamal laughed. 

“It won’t,” Ian repeated. “Don’t fight it, don’t avoid it. Drown.” 

“Are you serious?” he said, staring at him. 

“Yup,” Ian replied simply, popping the p. 

Jamal plucked through the grass. “That’s how it’s done, huh?” He grabbed Ian’s hand, placing it on his neck. Ian’s fingers uncurled and extended, and Jamal started to fade. 

The world melted away as he went deeper. Hazy, slow, then dark. The water pooled around his feet, licking his ankles. It rose from nowhere, and when he kicked it held him. They were ropes in the water. No, it was the tar holding him, the toxins that were the reason poor bastards like him existed. 

He was trapped in his body, his feet immobile. The water continued to rise, grabbing his hands. He stared at it, willing himself to face it. The water hissed, and inky hands shot out, grabbing him, forcing him under. He panicked, and the water leapt higher. It tasted bitter, musky, familiar. He was getting lightheaded, and he felt the greasy slide push its way forward, into his body. 

_There you are!_ , the voice said, and it felt furious. 

No, he thought, no, you’re not here-

 _Tell me where you are,_ the voice demanded. _You can’t hide from me._

Jamal fought, animal instinct. He couldn’t live like this, he couldn’t do it anymore. There wasn’t anywhere the water couldn’t reach him. He was tainted, inside and out. 

_He can’t get you here,_ another voice said. Ian. He’d almost forgotten. _Surrender,_ it said firmly. 

_No,_ Jamal growled. _Not to that._

 _Oh,_ the voice said, and it was Ian’s scientific voice, so real it was undeniable. _There are hands, in the water. Did you notice?_

 _Hard not to,_ Jamal returned. The scene was slowing as he observed it. 

_The voice isn’t real,_ Ian said. _We’re still blocking him._

How could he be so sure? His nose was above the water, his head tilted back. He swallowed down more of it, gagging. He was losing consciousness, he could feel it. He fought it, tried to pull himself up, but the hands grabbed just as hard. 

“I can’t,” he heard himself say, and his voice was a whimper. 

“You can,” Ian said softly. “Trust me.” 

“I _can’t_ ,” Jamal said. 

“Do you want to come up?” Ian asked. 

His breaths were shallow, and the water trickled through his nostrils. He started to relax. Was this what dying felt like? 

“No,” he said, far away. “I-“ He was underwater. The voices cut off. There was the white noise of the body of water, but nothing else. He didn’t have to breathe. Time slowed, and he breached the water. It was cold above the surface, so he dove back down. The water was dark, murky, and odd blue lights shone in the depths. It hid him. There were no hands, no voices, no pain. It was keeping him safe. 

_Hello,_ Ian’s voice said, and suddenly he appeared alongside him, swimming breaststroke. _You’re the only other one with an ocean, believe it or not. Though I’ve been told water is supposed to symbolize your emotions._ He could feel the tease in the tone.

 _Huh,_ Jamal said. _I like it here._

 _It’s your mind,_ Ian said casually. _It should be a basic human right that you can feel safe in it._

They swam for a bit, Jamal occasionally poking his head above the surface, then diving right back under. 

_I don’t want to leave,_ he said, unsure where the thought had come from, though it felt right. 

_Nuh-uh,_ Ian said. _I’m pulling you up._ He sounded shaken, despite his teasing tone. 

Jamal came back with a gasp. He flexed his fingers, opened his eyes. Ian was looking at him anxiously. 

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” Jamal whined. 

“You’d starve to death down there,” Ian joked, but his eyes were pinched. “You feeling okay?”

Jamal felt empty, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. “A little weird,” he admitted. 

Jamal felt an anxious tendril of Ian’s consciousness circling him, and he batted it away. “I’m fine,” he grunted. He drew his arms around himself, and Ian laid a hand on his shoulder, though he kept his mind respectfully distant. 

“I’m just cold,” Jamal said, standing and dislodging the arm. 

“Right,” Ian said, and Jamal had some suspicion he could feel his insecurity, the animal need to be comforted. Jamal cut off the feeling savagely. It made him weak. He remembered- he cut that memory short, but not before he felt a wash of shame. He might as well offer himself on a damn platter. He strode towards the house.

Ian followed. “Do you know what you did today?" 

Jamal grunted. 

“This is the first step toward your independence,” Ian said. “You should keep trying until you can control it, but it doesn’t have to be with me. Anyone here can help you.” 

Jamal winced. “No offense man, but I trust everyone else even less than you.”

“Uh,” Ian’s brow furrowed. “Thanks, I think.” 

When Jamal curled around his pillow that night, he fell asleep within seconds, his mind blissfully empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your interest feeds the little hamster on the wheel in my brain that gives me ideas


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meddling old people are the best

“Chloe?” Jamal called as they carted groceries in from the truck. 

“Huh? Yeah?” She looked back over her shoulder as she settled the last bag on the counter. Jamal looked around, but no one else was in the kitchen. That he could see. This weird ass house had a lot of nooks and crannies he was still finding. 

Jamal leaned against the counter, going for casual. There were too many damn secrets in this place, and it was making him twitchy. He’d come to the conclusion that it required some sleuthing. 

“Do you know anyone who had to break a bond? Ian said you need another one to fill it, but I have no clue what that means. And every time I bring it up, he has this look like I’m torturing him.” 

So far, Ian had told him next to nothing about how he’d come here besides some jokes about a “stint as a lab rat” and various adjectives describing how kind Lily and Gerda were. He apparently found the omegas because they projected their distress when they zoned; any within a few miles he could pick up on easily, further if the omegas in the house worked together. Somehow. He was fuzzy on that part too. 

“Oh,” Chloe said, shuffling bottles around to make room for the orange juice, “I did, actually. He probably doesn’t want to talk about it because he thinks privacy is important. Have to have some boundaries, when you can be in people’s minds all the time, pick up on their emotions even when you don’t mean to. Ha.” The orange juice slotted into place, and she started working on the vanilla yogurts Gerda liked, stacking them neatly. 

“Ok,” Jamal said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. He handed Chloe the new yogurt cups. 

“Thanks. I guess you should know, it’s very painful, to break a bond. It can be risky.” 

“Oh.” Jamal fiddled with the lid of the yogurt, laying it back down surreptitiously when he accidentally broke the seal. “Can I ask you something?”

Chloe nodded, her smile a bit forced. 

“Who’d you bond with? How does that work?” He held his breath. 

“Ian,” she said shortly. “It’s platonic. Well. Quantifying relationships that way never made sense to me, but yeah.”

“Yeah,” Jamal shuffled. “I broke the seal on the yogurt.” He pointed. “That one. Sorry. Does that happen often? I mean, with Ian?” 

“Noo,” Chloe drawled, hopping up with the yogurt, and grabbing a spoon from the drawer. She hit the fridge shut with her foot, and sat on the counter, carefully avoiding a ceramic frog. “It was an emergency. Ian hasn’t bonded with anyone else. Anyone here, anyway.” She licked the spoon clean and observed her reflection in the metal before she dipped it in again. 

“Anyone here?” Jamal prompted. “That sounds like a story.” 

“Look,” Chloe said, shifting uncomfortably, “I know a lot of things about Ian because of the bond, but it’s kind of not fair that I know them. So I don’t want to say anything else, ‘cause I don’t think it’d be right.”

Jamal deflated. She was his best source of information, and she was happy to talk about anything until it skirted Ian’s past. It made sense, but-

“Oh man,” Chloe sighed. “If you wanted to get some more answers, I would maybe ask the people who found Ian, after he escaped the facility.” She looked at him meaningfully. 

“Escaped?” Jamal pushed, cataloguing that. Gerda and Lily were next. 

Chloe kicked out her foot at him. “Maybe he walked right out. Got in their heads, had them release him. I’m not answering anything else.” She stood and washed the spoon. She turned the tap off, and one of the other omegas came in- was his name Will? Jacob? and filled a glass of water. 

“They’re on the porch,” Chloe said lowly, not looking at Jamal. 

Right. That was all the push he needed. Maybe sleuthing wasn’t really his thing. 

*

“Good afternoon,” Jamal said politely. Gerda looked up from her cross stitch, which appeared to be a vulva. Both of the women were in rocking chairs. Lily was smoking. It wasn’t tobacco. 

“Good afternoon,” Lily greeted with a smile. “Have you come to seek counsel?” 

“I have a question,” he started, and had the odd feeling they were seeing right through him, empathic powers or not. 

“Yes, clearly,” Lily said, patting a stationary chair with what appeared to be a branch as a fourth leg. Jamal sat down gingerly, and it tilted slightly. 

“How’d you and Ian meet?” Was that too blunt? People weren’t really his thing. 

“Well, we were getting some matches, because of the snowstorm,” Lily started. 

“Blizzard, that year,” Gerda interjected. “And we came out of the store, and he was sitting there on a bench, and he looked like shit.”

“Well,” Lily considered, “yes, that’s pretty true. So I went over to him, and I asked him if he needed a ride to wherever he was staying, because the snow was starting to fall.” 

“And he made up some lie, and I took a good look at him and it was clear he had nowhere to go,” Gerda continued. 

“So we took him home, of course,” Lily said. “And we were snowed in for a week! So we had a lot of time to chat, poor boy.” 

“And he was making our life exciting again, cause our kiddo had passed away years ago, and, well. We told him we were keeping him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jamal said, though he was startled that they’d had a child. 

Gerda waved a hand. “Thank you, it was a long time ago.”

Lily took a long drag, and blew it out meditatively. “He’d lost someone too, he told us. That he’d been with someone that went against the fertility laws, another boy, an omega. And that just made us hoppin’ mad. Could have been us, you know?” 

Gerda squeezed her hand. “They ignore us because we’re old and infertile anyway, but a kid like him, they messed with him. When he found another stray one of you, we told him to keep her with us, cause where else would she go? Out on the street, only matter of time before they picked her up. It isn't right, how people like you are treated.”

Lily nodded, raising her eyebrows. “I admit it gives me a thrill to think I'm upsetting the government and some horny conservative douchebag. It got to be where we were adding on bits to the house, but I'm happy as a clam about it.” She laughed. “We had to start, um, selling some home grown specialty items, cause we were happy to be retired, thank you very much.” She tapped the joint. 

“How is it that no one’s found you yet?” Jamal asked, balancing carefully on the edge of the chair. 

“Mm,” Gerda said, not looking up from the cross-stitch. “You don’t know this ‘cause you haven’t been here long enough, but it’s something y’all do. When people get suspicious, you- convince them otherwise.” 

“That sounds like a mobster movie,” Jamal replied dryly. 

Gerda snorted. “I don’t know how it works. Ian learned it, back at that horrible place, and he shows you how. You look at someone, and you convince them there’s nothing to see. All I need to understand about it is that if someone tries to whammy me, I’m gonna box their ears.” 

“I hear you,” Jamal said. “What about that place, that he came from? Can you tell me about that?”

“Hm,” Lily mused. “As far as I understand, they heard rumors he was reading minds. So they set it up that it looked like he was being admitted to a special boarding school. And, well, I suppose you know how omegas are treated, teachers think there’s no use teaching them anything, that they’re not as smart anyway.” 

Jamal knew plenty. He was black. 

“His parents thought it was a great idea, shipped him off. Letters they got were censored, but they didn’t notice. He doesn’t talk about it, really. Just that they experimented a lot. Wanted to see what the things he did would be like as a weapon. Like they do with everything, you know. In the end, I suppose they found out.” 

“Wow,” Jamal said. Lily passed him the joint. He accepted it. 

“And he teaches everyone that stuff?” 

Lily nodded. “Sure does. But only if they want to know. It pisses us off, how omegas are treated, how few choices y’all have. Could be that putting some power in your hands would change that. But it’s not why we pick y’all up.” 

That didn’t seem like a terrible motivation. It was plausible. Something wary loosened in his chest. 

Or maybe that was the pot. “Why, then?”

Gerda cleared her throat. “Ian started because he feels that pain from them, and he wants to reach out and fix it. I think he’s trying to make something right where he thinks he failed before.” She set down the needles. “You seem like a good boy.” 

Jamal looked away. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“That boy’s an annoying shit sometimes. Thinks he’s always right, that everyone’s safety is his responsibility. Gets to be damn patronizing, though he doesn’t mean it that way. He’s gonna be gray before he’s thirty if we don't keep his feet on the ground. But he’s a much better man than he thinks he is.”

“We’re spilling his secrets to you,” Lily said with a smile, and Jamal flushed, “because you seem to be very alike in some ways. And we think someone should know. He’s got something dark that he’s holding, thinks it’s better that he’s all alone. And no one should be alone.”

“We’re telling you because we like you,” Gerda clarified, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. The touch was nostalgic, though he’d never had a parent who showed him affection like that. It’d been a long time since he’d thought about it. Expectations only led to disappointment, anyway. 

“Everyone needs to be loved, honey,” Lily said, finishing off the joint. It was eerie, how they could read him. “It’s how we’re all made. Connection, to one another, to the universe-“

“Oh goodness,” Gerda interjected, “he doesn’t want to hear about that.” Lily huffed and looked away. “I’m saving you, kid. Run along now, go make yourself useful somewhere.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jamal answered, uncomfortable with how the conversation had turned towards him, and stood hurriedly. He had a lot to think about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe check out the prequel if you wanna? it's there if you click the left arrow on the series bit. the next chapter will contain spoilers for the prequel, but i'm doing it in a way that gives as little away as possible.

Jamal stared at Ian, trying to concentrate. Candles flickered off to the side, but he was learning to shut them out. He needed to focus. He wasn’t allowed to close his eyes this time, and it was hard to process so much at once. 

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Ian muttered. He _pushed_ his frustration, and Jamal reeled. “You’re not going to hurt me. I know you’re stronger than that.” 

Jamal pushed back at Ian’s mental walls. He could feel them, solid, like thick ice. He slid right off. He wiped away sweat from his forehead. 

“They’re too thick,” he grunted. “I can’t-“ 

Ian looked at him, his eyes steely. “That’s what I want you to think. It’s a psychological projection, remember? Tell me what you see.” 

“Ice,” Ian panted, “thick ice, everywhere.” 

“Well,” Ian drawled, not breaking a sweat, “better get a pick axe or something, huh?”

Ian stared at the ice. “It’s an illusion, but you’re still behind it.” He touched the ice wall. “I just need to see in.” 

Ian squared his shoulders. “There you go,” he smiled. “Now give it your best shot.” 

Jamal thought of the pick, and pulled it to his hand. He hit the wall. Ian narrowed his attention. Jamal kept his walls up. Concrete. 

Then he thought of boiling water, pulled the image of the pot on the stove he had seen earlier. He levitated it, and threw it at the other side of the wall. 

The ice melted, then went transparent. He could see in. That was all he needed. 

_Alarm_ flashed through Ian’s mind, but the seconds were already ticking away. Jamal pushed through. 

He meant to push a suggestion, like “you should go get a glass of water,” but then he stopped, staring. He could see something hazy, someone crouched on the floor- he moved closer. 

It was a man, pleading, looking up at him. At Ian. He heard the rushing of water, and turned to the side. A wave, a tsunami, broke over a forbidding looking concrete building. The water rushed in, and the man drowned. There were bodies, other bodies, in the water- 

Ian gave him a _shove_ and he was on the other side of the ice wall. The ice went foggy. 

Ian was smiling. “Great job!” he exclaimed. “You fooled me, while keeping your attention on at least four things at once. Very well done. Of course, you didn’t manage to suggest anything, but.” Ian frowned at him. “You got distracted,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Yeah,” Jamal replied, shaky. 

“I’m sorry,” Ian said, and he looked tired. “I really should have insisted you do this with someone else. Can you tell me about it, whatever it was?” 

Jamal swallowed. “There was a man, begging,” he said hoarsely. 

“You want to know if I killed him,” Ian asked evenly, and Jamal looked away. “I didn’t.” 

“Sorry,” Jamal started, and Ian held up a hand. 

“No,” he said, “you have every right to ask.” He closed his eyes. “Let me prove it to you.” 

The ice walls dropped, like glaciers consumed by the sea. 

“This feels fucking awful,” Ian commented, “so I’d rather you went and looked for it quickly, if you can.” 

Jamal closed his eyes. He summoned the image of the man, imagining he was pulling a file from a cabinet. 

The man raised his hands toward Ian again, but he wasn’t making eye contact with Ian. He was looking to the left. Jamal turned. 

There was another boy next to Ian, with short, dark hair. He was compact, sturdy, and his feet were planted firmly apart. He wasn’t looking at the kneeling man. 

“No,” the boy barked towards someone. A woman, wearing a grey suit, her hair neatly pulled back. “I won’t. You can’t make me!” 

Dark shapes rushed from the side, and grabbed the boy. Then the memory went dark. 

Jamal pulled back. “That wasn’t your memory,” he said, sure. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Ian confirmed. 

“Whose, then?” Jamal asked. It had to have been someone Ian knew well. Who’d let him into his mind, chosen to give him that memory. 

Ian swallowed. “Michael,” he said. “His name was Michael.”

Jamal felt something, followed the feeling like Ian had taught him to. The ice walls rose from the seas, then slotted back into place, slick and hard, cold. 

“You loved him,” Jamal stated. 

“Yes,” Ian said softly. “You should go into town the next time we go, if you’d like. I think it’s important that you get an idea of how different non-omega minds feel.”

“Sure,” Jamal said easily. He offered Ian a hand up. “Want to help with dinner?” 

*

Ian was at home around the other omegas. They teased him, played pranks on him, patted him on the back. He smiled widely every time, like he was happy to be seen. His body language was at ease, where normally he seemed wary, hypervigilant. 

Jamal had seen Chloe with him, the way they dropped their feet into each other’s laps, chatted, played with each other’s hair. Chloe had bonded with Ian. She had seen everything inside him, and wasn’t afraid of him. That had to mean something. 

One of the omega boys, Jackson, was sitting in the corner of the living room, huddled. Ian drifted away from the kitchen to go to him. Jamal kept chopping the potatoes, trying to push his sight to focus in on Jackson. 

Ian had crouched down in front of him. Jackson had come before Jamal, and he’d been pretty bad off, according to the others. His husband had beaten him, and he had a concussion when David picked him up. But if anyone mentioned how horrible Jackson’s husband had been, he’d get angry. 

“You just don’t know him,” he’d said, “he didn’t mean to. He was upset.” Then he’d looked hurt, confused. “I know he was abusive,” he said, imploring. “I’m not crazy. But he loved me, he did.” 

Jamal had felt a shiver go through him at the words. He’d say the same things about his dad, a long time ago. He didn’t mean it. He was trying to make me a man. I deserved it. He was-.

His husband hadn’t needed the act. Jamal was bound to him by law from the beginning. Plus, he hadn’t been the hitting kind, so much. He was much more creative. 

Jamal sliced the potato viciously, and Chloe hip checked him. 

“Yeah, you really got to keep those potatoes in line,” she teased, and Jamal grumbled back. 

“I think that’s how you express affection,” she said, gathering the chunks of potato he’d laid to the side and putting them in a pot. “You’re all dour, but it’s a façade.” 

Jamal’s brow furrowed. “I’ll dour your façade,” he muttered. 

Chloe followed his gaze. Ian had his full attention on Jackson, listening. Jackson made a few gestures, then hunched. 

“Ah,” Chloe said shortly. “I offered to take Jackson back out, after a few weeks here. Give him money for a trip, even if it meant going back to his husband.” She shrugged. “He came with us, thought about it, but he decided to stay.” She poked at the potatoes. “I just hope he’s happy some day.” 

“He’ll figure it out,” Jamal diagnosed confidently. He watched Ian pat Jackson’s shoulder, projecting sympathy, then move back to the kitchen. 

* 

“Right there,” Ian said, pointing. “See? He’s carrying an umbrella.” 

“I see him,” Jamal said, spotting the man across the supermarket parking lot. Raindrops collected on the windshield, obscuring his vision. He focused more sharply. 

“When I say so, just give him a gentle nudge,” Ian instructed. “Let him think he should open his umbrella. Just let the thought pass through his head. Be subtle. Don’t scare him, just feed him the thought.” 

“Right,” Jamal confirmed. They’d been practicing. 

“Show me the amount of pressure you’re going to use,” Ian told him. 

Jamal gave him a tap. _I should open the umbrella._

“Perfect, exactly,” Ian smiled. “Ok, go for it. Less is more.” 

Jamal pushed the thought forward, imagining it as a paper boat on a gentle stream. It tapped the man. 

He shook the water droplets from his hair, unstuck the Velcro on the umbrella, and opened it. 

“Yes,” Ian crooned, raising his hand. Jamal laughed, and gave him a high-five. 

“And that’s it,” Ian shrugged. “If someone starts looking too closely, following you, thinking about hurting you- just a tap. Offer them something else to think about, before the situation escalates. When do you use this?” 

“Only as a last resort,” Jamal recited. “It’s a responsibility. It’d be really fucked up to mess with people’s heads just because I can. And you all know I believe that, because you looked before you taught me any of this,” he added. 

“Just remember that,” Ian said. “I don’t really think it can be repeated enough. It should be route, that you think that, every time.” 

“Well, I think you’re probably right,” Jamal agreed. “Can I drive?” 

Chloe had been teaching him how to drive. It’d been an experience. But he thought he was getting the hang of it, now. 

Ian winced. “How about when we get to the back roads? We should catch up with the others, first.” 

“Fine,” Jamal grumbled. Ian backed out, and turned onto the main road. 

Suddenly, Ian went still. 

“Pay attention to the road,” Jamal mocked Ian’s high-pitched backseat driver voice, teasing. 

“Sorry,” Ian shook himself. “Jackson left.” Ian tapped on the steering wheel, and Jamal could feel the worry he was unconsciously projecting. And something like shame, or failure. 

“Hey,” Jamal said awkwardly, “he’s an adult. He’s going to make his own decisions. You did your best, and I’m sure you made him think. He knows how to find you if he wants to.” 

Ian slumped. Jamal reached out, and patted his shoulder, projecting reassurance. Ian looked at him, surprised. 

“Thank you,” Ian said sincerely, squeezing his hand briefly. Jamal had shied away from most touch. It wasn’t that he didn’t crave it. All omegas did. And that was the problem. 

“Where’d you grow up?” Ian asked suddenly. 

Jamal leaned back. “Suburb outside of New York.”

“What was your mom like?”

“Dunno,” Jamal shrugged, “died when I was young.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ian said, and from him it sounded compassionate, not route like the hundreds of other times he’d heard it. 

“It’s okay. I had a sister. Still have, somewhere. She was stubborn, really funny.”

“Is she an omega too?” Ian asked. 

“Nah,” Jamal laughed. “They were shocked I was one. Where I’m from, people couldn’t really pay for fertility treatments. My parents only did one.” 

“So everyone thought you were a miracle child, huh?”

“Sure, yeah,” Jamal hemmed. “But they didn’t like me much. Especially my dad.” He fiddled with the hem on his shirtsleeve. “It would have been fine, if I were a girl. Well, for being an omega. Though that comes with a lot of other problems, actually.” 

“Oh,” Ian said, looking at him. He looked back at the road. “I see.” 

“Yeah,” Jamal allowed. “My husband didn’t like it either. But he wasn’t going to get any better than me.” 

“I don’t think I like him very much,” Ian said shortly. 

Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know about that part,” he reasoned. “He just wasn’t gay, you know?” 

“He said that to you?” Ian said, lips tight. 

Jamal shifted uncomfortably. “When can we break the bond?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’m ready. I need to.”

“Of course,” Ian said quickly. “Who do you want to bond with?” 

“You,” Jamal said simply. Ian’s hands went white-knuckled on the wheel. 

“There are some things you should know about me,” Ian said carefully. “Things that might make you change your mind.” 

“Would you ever try to get in my head if I told you not to? 

Ian shook his head quickly. “But-“ 

“If I wanted the bond to stay platonic, would you respect that?” 

“Of course!” Ian said, aghast. “The thought of doing anything else makes me sick.” 

And of course he was telling the truth. If Jamal had learned anything about Ian, it was that. He’d talked to Chloe about it. She’d decided she was asexual, and aromantic; it didn’t matter to her whether the trauma she’d been through had caused it, because it was her reality. Ian had been the only person she’d trusted not to be influenced by the pull of the replacement bond. To allow Chloe her freedom. 

“I know,” he said simply. “That’s all I care about. And you’re the person who respects that the most.” 

Ian nodded. “Still, you should know beforehand. We should know about each other, since the bond will show us. Even if we decide to block one another out afterwards.” 

Jamal nodded. “Agreed.” He felt nervous, all of the sudden. “Can we do it when we get back?” he asked, his voice getting smaller. 

“Yeah,” Ian said, looking away shyly. The rest of the car ride was long.


End file.
